


Pet Therapy

by cathrheas



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cats, F/F, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathrheas/pseuds/cathrheas
Summary: Rhea's not like other cats, but Catherine doesn't expect other people to understand.
Relationships: Catherine/Rhea (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Pet Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> shindanmaker prompt was "one of them becomes a tiny cat one day and have to take care(?)" 
> 
> i um, got a little carried away...one of those nights, i guess.
> 
> anyway imma plug my twitter aGAIN @cathrheas! lately i've been doing more polls because um, i cant do anything on my own. sorry :'D

Catherine knew a few of her coworkers had pictures of their pets on their desk, but doing that with Rhea felt a little too strange. If you ask someone about the picture of the pet on their desk, you usually ask what their name is, how old, what breed, then move on. But Rhea was much more than your normal cat. Catherine couldn’t blame people for asking stupid, menial questions about Rhea, because none of them had gotten close enough to her to know the truth. So, instead of putting herself through the torture of those conversations, she simply left all of her pictures of Rhea in her apartment. Even after two years of owning Rhea, she couldn’t bring herself to frame a single picture of her.

But it was hard to get through the day without seeing her sometimes. And, still, she didn’t let people get close to her, so she had nobody to discuss it with. As if anybody would understand, anyway. It didn’t really matter if anybody understood or not at the end of the night, when she punched out and sped home. She had considered setting up a nanny cam or something similar, to keep an eye on Rhea while she was gone, but quickly dismissed it. Rhea deserved her privacy too, after all.

“Private time is over, now, though,” Catherine said to herself, smiling. She pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex, turning her car off. It had pained her to delay her arrival any longer, but she had stopped by the pet store to buy some sardines—one of Rhea’s favorites. It was well worth the wait, but Catherine was eager to see Rhea’s tail sway, to see her whiskers relax and her ears lay back.

She wanted so badly to see that damn cat happy.

Catherine jogged the three flights up to her door, making sure to jingle the keys loud enough for Rhea to hear it in the bedroom. She usually perched there while Catherine was away, in the armchair; Catherine knew because sometimes she’d come home to find a warm spot and emerald green cat hair there. When Catherine opened the door, Rhea had already abandoned her spot, lounging across a seat at the dinner table.

“Well, well, well! How did you know I was bringing you a treat? You’re already at the table,” Catherine said, kicking her shoes off.

Rhea said nothing. Not even a purr. The only sound she made was the jingle of the bell on her collar as she got off of the chair, rubbing up against Catherine’s ankles. Rhea was a Savannah cat, a large breed, but Catherine still picked her up with ease. Rhea always shied away from kisses, but Catherine couldn’t help pressing one to her nose before setting her down.

“Alright. Let’s pop this motherfucker open, before I forget. Not like I would, but...eh. Long day.” 

Rhea followed Catherine into the kitchen, but didn’t go onto the tile. Instead, she laid at the threshold, lounging on the carpet. Catherine didn’t know why, but Rhea hated the tile. Maybe it was too cold for her paws. Or maybe the carpet just felt nicer. Catherine really wanted her to talk, just once. Catherine wasn’t sure what she would ask her, if she could only have one answer...

“Maybe I’d ask...hm...” Catherine took the sardines can out, then picked Rhea’s food bowl off of the floor. Rhea looked up. “I feel like I know a lot already, but there’s a lot I won’t know unless you tell me. Like—what’s your favorite TV show?”

Rhea meowed. Calmly, but insistently.

“I’m sorry. I try, I really do, but I don’t speak cat. I know you watch the TV sometimes when I leave it on, which is pretty cool, but, like, you watch the news, and the game shows, and the random reality shows...do you just like to see the stuff move, or—ah, fuck. This can is...” Rhea’s tail swung as she watched Catherine struggle with the pop tab of the can. Maybe Catherine was imagining it, but Rhea looked concerned. If cats could look concerned. 

After a few more wiggles, the metal tab broke off, and the can was still closed. Rhea stood, and walked onto the tile, although her legs were stiff. “No, it’s fine, you don’t have to...ugh. Why am I talking? I need a can opener before you go hungry, babe.” 

Catherine rustled through the kitchen drawers, looking for her can opener. It was probably rusted, if she even managed to find it. As she dug through the drawer, she realized just how much junk she had. Why did she even keep the can opener in the junk drawer? Markers, and sticky notes, and batteries, and...

A photo. Catherine looked down at Rhea, and saw that she had silently moved back to the carpet, licking the pads of her paws.  _ At least she’s not too fed up with me not being able to open a can. _

While she was distracted, Catherine decided to pick up the picture. It was an old photo. But, it wasn’t that old, really. Five years, maybe. It merely looked old, since it was collecting so much dust, which Catherine carefully wiped off. It was a picture of Catherine and a woman long-gone, but not forgotten. Emerald hair and eyes, rosy cheeks, and a smile that reached her eyes when she saw the ones she loved. They were both wearing little Santa hats, but the other woman wore it better than Catherine, by far. They had their arms wrapped around each other, and if you looked close enough, you could see the woman’s lipstick on Catherine’s cheek.

Catherine couldn’t remember when she put that photo in the drawer. Or, better yet, why. Grief? Anger? Sadness? They were all the same feeling, in the end.

Catherine clicked her tongue a few times, and Rhea looked up from her paws. Catherine crouched down, the photo in her hands. “Hey, Rhea? Who’s that?” Catherine tapped the face of the woman, clicking her tongue again to keep Rhea’s attention. “Who’s that?”

Rhea put her nose to the picture. Was she smelling it? Recognizing? She sneezed from the dust, but put her nose back. She gave the photo a lick, but it was Catherine that she was licking.

“No, no. I mean, thanks,” Catherine said, chuckling. “But, look. See that? That—that’s you.” She tapped the woman’s face again. “It’s you, see...? See? You two are just alike. She liked fish, too. But then again, all cats like fish, so...but, that armchair you like, she liked that chair, too! And she’d be sitting at the dinner table when I came home from work, just like you...wow. I sound even more insane aloud. I mean, even if it was  _ possible, _ you were born before she even passed away, so—”

Rhea mewled, looking right up at Catherine. They sat there like that, for quite a while. And even in those feline eyes, there was something familiar, so humane. Like Rhea had seen the woman in the picture and sucked up every bit of emotion from her, just to reflect it back at Catherine. 

No. Impossible. She was just hungry. Catherine stood up, sighing and going through the drawer again. Once she found the can opener, she waved it triumphantly. “There we go. You’re eating good tonight, babe. Don’t worry.” Rhea paced around as Catherine opened the can and dumped it in the food bowl, setting it down on the floor. Rhea kept pacing, not even looking sideways at the bowl when Catherine put it down for her. “Uh, hello? You put up all this fuss, and...well, whatever. Eat when you’re hungry.”

Catherine opened the fridge and took out a beer. That pop tab was easier to open.  _ Click, hiss. _ She took a sip, leaning against the fridge. Rhea stopped pacing, then looked at Catherine. Why did Catherine feel so awkward, making eye contact with a fucking cat? Maybe it was better that she didn’t have any pictures of Rhea on her desk. Nobody would understand because she was nuts. 

That stupid picture. Maybe that was why she put it in the drawer. What good did it do her, anyway? Looking at that picture of that woman—that picture of the Rhea who said she loved her back, the Rhea whose favorite TV show she actually knew—it did nothing but drive her to drink.

“Rhea,” Catherine said. Rhea didn’t look away. “Is...is it really you, or...” Rhea began to pace again, but only for a few steps. Then, she padded over to Catherine’s ankles, laying herself at them. “What are you trying to say to me? Hm? All the things I wish I could hear you say...you must have some stuff you wanna say, too, right? What do you wanna say?”

But she didn’t respond. Not that Catherine expected her to. Rhea’s paw was right on the tip of Catherine’s foot, resting there. She set her head down, then, and shut her eyes. Catherine didn’t move a muscle, not even to sip her beer. She sat back against the counter, looking down at Rhea. 

That’s what she’d ask, if she had one question.  _ Is it really you? _ Catherine shut her own eyes, focusing herself on the feeling of Rhea’s warmth through her sock. She imagined asking it, and she imagined hearing the voice she hadn’t heard in so long saying “yes”.


End file.
